Ten years on, Wreckfest is the game that's come closest to filling the Burnout-shaped hole in my soul

There’s a totally destroyed car heading right for me with all the momentum its jauntily-angled wheels can muster. Its front bumper has been completely torn off, exposing its engine block, which is midway through dislodging itself from the rest of the chassis and is angrily spewing fire as it does so. The driver’s face is obscured behind a simple black helmet, which boasts a terrifyingly emotionless countenance.

We’re going to have a crash, and it’s going to be glorious.

Since I first picked up a PS2 controller, crashing has been the thing I’ve spent by far the most time doing in the litany of driving and racing games I’ve played since that point. It’s often been a source of frustration for me, and remains an occasional annoyance, even now that I’ve shaken off the life of a carefree child and gained the slightly improved my reflexes and hand-eye coordination of an adult that’s just about passable at video games.

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